Flowers
by Nevertrustaprussian
Summary: When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure. Author Unknown Pairing: USUK


Title: Flowers

Pairing: USUK

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia by any stretch of my imagination ;)

A boy with striking blue eyes smiles as he walks through the rain, his oversized jacket falling loose on his slim shoulders. Despite the water that drenches his entire person, he walks with a spring to his step, focusing on the job at hand. 'Job', however, seems like the wrong title for what he was doing, for it wasn't a job at all.

The boy follows the slick pavement until it arrives at an intersection, at the corner of which rests a tiny florist shop; the vibrant colours of the flowers contrast the grey of the outside world. They seem to pour out of the shop: vines climbing gradually through the old-fashioned windows and up onto the roof above, bright pink petunias, yellow hydrangeas, and, of course, the roses. The roses rest in between the other bunches of flowers: every one perfectly healthy. They seem as though they are straight from a painting, there are no faults in their appearance. The reds look as though they had been painted with scarlet blood, only with fewer flaws. The pinks look as though they had stolen a blush from a young woman, only lovelier. The whites look as though they had taken the wispy strands of cloud from the sky, only gentler.

The whole shop seemed unfit to be apart of the smog-filled, dirty city, every detail seemed too perfect, too unreal to belong in such a boring, dull setting where most adults would simply walk on without turning to glance at the beauty. The boy, however, turns directly for the shop, waving to the older man sitting behind the counter and calling a kind greeting, as though they are good friends.

The man replies. _Where are you off to Alfred?_ He askes, still smiling: always smiling. The blue-eyed boy tells him simply, and without hesitation, that he is headed to see his boyfriend, to give him his birthday present. To this the man smiles knowingly, and inquires as to which flowers the boy would like. Like every year, he walks directly to a rose, a perfect rose whose scarlet stained petals are plentiful and seemingly not as delicate as the others. Immediately, he picks it up gently, much gentler than one would assume of such a high-spirited boy. He inspects it one last time before making to walk towards the cash register, beginning to pull out the money he had set aside for this moment, when the man sets a firm hand on his shoulder, telling him to take the flower free of charge, that his often company is enough.

The boy is overjoyed. He thanks the man sincerely, but does not waste another moment before tearing off into the rain once more, now holding the rose protectively to his chest as though trying to shield it from the colourless, baleful surroundings. The rain is heavier now than it was before, but he doesn't really notice. He doesn't mind the rain; its rhythm is regular and soothing, like a beating heart.

He waits until he is passed the busy, crowded streets to slow to a walk, taking the wide gravel path that winds through the wood of gravestones towards his destination. When he was younger, he had always been afraid of cemeteries; they were the things from horror movies, the places inhabited by ghosts and evil spirits, but over the last couple of years, his opinion of them has changed greatly. He supposes it started when he and his boyfriend had been walking through the graveyard one day for a reason unknown to the boy until a great while later.

"_Come on Alfred, you can't be that bloody scared of ghosts!" Arthur called teasingly from his position about twenty meters along the gravel path, turning to face his boyfriend who had stopped a small ways behind him. Alfred looked nervous, biting his lip and shifting anxiously from foot to foot._

"_A-Artie, don't you think it's getting sort of dark?" Alfred said quietly, looking around nervously as though checking for approaching dangers. Seeing his worried expression, Arthur couldn't help but laugh as he walked back towards the boy and urged him to keep walking._

"_It can't be later than five, it won't get dark for another three or four hours yet." He chuckled, grabbing Alfred's hand and pulling him along before he had the chance to argue. Alfred reluctantly matched his pace to Arthur's, but kept their hands twined together nonetheless, grinning when he saw the other boy's confused expression transform into a blush as he quickly looked away. _

_Together they wandered down the winding trails that crisscrossed through the cemetery; all the time Alfred was trying to figure out why exactly they were doing this when Arthur turned suddenly, hurrying up a smaller path shadowed by overhanging trees, surprising Alfred with his unusual enthusiasm. As they drew further from the main trail, Alfred's heart began to race as he checked the rate of the slowly setting sun with worried eyes. _

_And then, just like that, the trees were gone. They had emerged into a separate section of the cemetery, - one that Alfred had never seen before- the noise from the city seemed to be lost behind them. Around them there was nothing except a ring of dense forest and very few graves: apparently Alfred wasn't the only one who didn't know about this place._

"_They were going to extend the cemetery," Arthur said, as though reading Alfred's mind, "But this is all they got done before the city cancelled the job. They said it was too expensive and unnecessary." Alfred was shocked, as he always was, at how much older than his age Arthur seemed as he looked out into the field, almost as if he knew something that Alfred didn't._

"_I would like to be buried somewhere like this, I think." He added softly, looking down at a newly placed rose lying across grave, "It almost seems magical, doesn't it? Almost as if you're away from reality even though, really, you're right in the middle of it."_

_After a short silence, he turned back to Alfred and, seeing his unsmiling expression, smirked widely._

"_You know, Alfred? You always look better when you're smiling." He chuckled at Alfred's lifted eyebrow, but when he spoke again, his voice was solemn, "You should always smile."_

The trail that once scared him so much has become more familiar to him than his own home and he takes his time as he meanders along it, enjoying the way the sunlight, even as dull as it is, filters through the dense branches, creating a low-lit path for him to follow. Even now his smile stays, but it's beginning to look slightly forced: almost sad. Every now and then it falters, but it always comes back.

However, when he gets to the field that has also become much too familiar in the last months, the smile slowly disappears.

The boy walks to the furthest mound of earth, the new stone shines up at him, the cruel lines engraved into its surface twist and twirl around each other to form characters. The blue-eyed boy has long since given up glaring at the words, he knows they won't change no matter how much he wills it. Instead, he carefully holds the rose a little ways from him and makes sure the petals areas perfect as they were in the shop. When he is finally satisfied, he kneels in the wet grass and places the rose's stem down onto the mud, leaving the flower to rest against the headstone. After some slight rearranging, the red petals are circling a name. The boy straightens, but does not stand, choosing to sit back on his heels as he folds his hands in his lap and inspects his handiwork. The constant rain masks the single tear that rolls down his face, but he simply wipes away the mix of fresh and salty water and inhales a slightly shaky breath.

"You would have loved Mr. Bonnefoy's shop today," He manages to smile slightly through the tears that blur his eyes and forces himself to continue, for there are so many things he has to say. "All the flowers seemed to be welcoming the spring. I know now what you meant when you said that place is magical. I-I wanted to get your birthday present, so I got you one of the red roses. Maybe it's gotten old after the other years, but I always love the expression that you get when you see it. I doubt I'll ever understand why a flower would make you so incredibly happy, but I know I'm glad it did."

The boy pauses to wipe his eyes again though he knows that soon he won't care.

"Do you remember how you snapped at my for touching on of the flowers the first time you showed me the shop? I didn't understand why you were so amazed by it all. I didn't really understand any of the places you showed me, did I? Not until later that is, when I went back alone and found all your notes. I always find myself wondering about that: how long you knew though I don't really think I want to know the answer to that."

Now he has to stop to even his breathing, the water from the grass has begun to seep through his pants but it doesn't bother him.

"I wish you were here, Arthur," His voice has grown considerably softer as he nearly whispers the words, "I wish you were here to see this unstoppable rain that you love so much. I wish you were here to see Peter's first day of middle school in the fall so we can tell him about our secret hideaways. I wish you were here to tell me and Mattie to stop bickering, and to poison us all with your cooking." The pauses and tears are becoming more frequent now; "I wish you were here so I could tell you how much I absolutely need you here."

Now the boy's sobs shake his figure and he doesn't try to stop them, letting his tears fall with the rain as he looks straight ahead, taking in only a name and the flower that surrounds it rather than the whole scene before him. Small, stuttered words find their way through his lips. They are simple words; only two or three phrases repeated over and over again, barely audible above his choking gasps.

"I-I need you A-Arthur."

"I-I love y-you."

"I love you so, s-so m-much."


End file.
